


say it's been a long six months (and you were too afraid to tell her what you want)

by amessofgaywords



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, I promise, and she's not even the actress!, angie is a smol bean, i would never dare to hurt them, peggy is a little overdramatic, peggy needs permission to let go, that woman needs to see a psychiatrist, the cartinelli fix-it fic we all still need, they're sad but not too sad, why does peggy dream in song and dance numbers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 07:52:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19421665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amessofgaywords/pseuds/amessofgaywords
Summary: Because you’re carrying a suitcase and you’re soaking wet and probably not looking your best and now you’re going to ruin Howard’s hardwoods, and Angie is looking at you as if you’ve sprouted an extra head in the time you’ve been away.“English, are you insane?”or peggy has to make a decision and angie needs her english back.





	say it's been a long six months (and you were too afraid to tell her what you want)

**Author's Note:**

> hello there! i recently fell into a pit of agent carter feels, specifically cartinelli, and i felt they needed to be done justice, so here we are. enjoy!
> 
> title is from how you get the girl by taylor swift (inadvertently the most cartinelli song ever).

You see, the little problem with your subconscious crafting an elaborate song and dance number in order to determine which of your male colleagues was more attractive in the middle of an espionage attempt to, well, stop the end of the world, is that it often backfires and provides inconclusive results and an overwhelming urge to flee the whole awkward situation.

Well, not that this was something that happened _often_ , per se.

The world was saved, hurray, hurrah, and now you are faced with a dilemma: what to do about Jason Wilkes and Daniel Sousa.

They are both nice men. Good candidates for a relationship. If things had happened differently, with your life, with Steve, likely you would be wed with children already to either one of them. Well, perhaps not, you always were a career girl after all, and Daniel had gone out to the front lines and – you’re getting sidetracked.

The point is, there are two perfectly nice, slightly-too-macho-for-their-own-good men competing for your affections, and there isn’t much you can think to do about it.

You… like them, you suppose. But not enough to sideline your career, not enough to disgrace Steve’s memory, and certainly not enough to stay in bloody Los Angeles.

That is why you are sitting on your bed, staring at an empty suitcase, contemplating skipping town without warning anybody.

Sure, it does look _somewhat_ guilty, but it’s not as if you’ve done anything wrong, so to speak, and Peggy Carter does not run from things. You are simply… leaving early. Yes, that sounds plausible.

You aren’t even sure why, but this morning when you woke up it was as if a hot poker was being pressed to your brain and demanding you get out of here, fly back home, back to New York, and if you’re being honest, it has far less to do with the great Wilkes-Sousa love triangle of 1947 and far more to do with the… messenger, so to speak, of your dream.

It was _Angie._

You haven’t thought of Angie, you’re ashamed to say, in months. It’s been so busy, with Whitney Frost and the Council of Nine and stopping an atomic explosion and all that, and you’ve barely been able to spare a thought for your best friend, much less a phone call or postcard.

_God, she probably hates me._

_Or has forgotten all about you_ , the poison voice whispers at the back of your neck, a tickle and a hum that makes you want to slap your skin as if a mosquito hovered there. 

The job is done, and you’re free to leave if you wish, that you know. You could book a flight and be in New York tonight, but some sort of inane, foolish… _worry_ is permeating your chest. It drives you to stand, pace, rub your slightly sweaty hands together and send furtive glances to your still-empty suitcase.

All at once, you stop in place and roll your eyes at yourself. You’re _Peggy Carter_ , by God, and you’ve faced Nazis, trained Russian spies, murderous Hollywood actresses, and far worse. Hell, in the past months, you’ve gotten impaled and still managed to shield the world from catastrophic doom. A measly confrontation with Angie Martinelli should be nothing.

Italian, spitfire, quick-to-anger-and-slower-to-forgive Angie Martinelli. Italian, spitfire, quick-to-anger Angie Martinelli, whom you haven’t spoken to in months.

_Bloody hell. Woman up, Carter._

You throw a few things in a suitcase and place a call to Mr. Jarvis. You’ll need to borrow Howard’s jet.

\---

Angie was always something more than your best friend.

From the moment you met her, late at night at the Automat, she was a ray of absolute sunshine with a bit of snark on the side. You adored her, the way she would bring you coffee, tea, or pie exactly when you needed it without even being asked, the way she smiled a little and laughed breathlessly when you complimented her acting, the way she never let those wankers who assaulted her each day get away with it.

Angie is sweet, and considerate, and brave, and she deserved ( _deserves_ , you correct) far more than you can give her. It’s why you left in the first place, why you ran away and didn’t look back. It might have been the work, the excuse you give, but in the end it was the cowardice, because the way your heart jumped when she hugged you and heat rose in your cheeks when she smiled, the way you couldn’t stop thinking about her scared the devil out of you.

And then there she was, in your head, preserved the way she’d always been, with a smile and a pot of coffee, and she was singing to you (really, why was she singing? You might need to get your head examined when you get to New York) and saying things like _who makes your heart beat faster_ and _make your mind up_ and rubbing your arms and her _hair_ looked so _soft_ and all you could think was _it’s you, it’s you, you, you, you._

And even though it’s been two years, even though there is no way to change the past (at least, not yet, no telling what Howard has in the works), you still feel the rotten snake of guilt curl hot and heavy around your ribs and constrict your throat.

Jason and Daniel, they weren’t worth the risk. You wouldn’t take either of them over _him,_ not ever. But _Angie…_

You think up, up to where Steve is, and you try to bring him back, focus on the sound of his voice and the curve of his smile and the gentle understanding in his eyes. You craft him in your mind, standing there in a plain t-shirt and pants, hands in his pockets, grinning crookedly.

“ _Hey, Pegs,_ ” he says, and you do your best to smile.

“ _Steve, I need… what do I… I need…_ ”

Steve nods like he understands. He shakes his head like he’s embarrassed, or maybe he’s laughing; either way, it’s fond. “ _She’s a great girl, Pegs._ ” 

His phantom body starts to fade and you can’t keep holding on, not forever, but his voice says one last thing before you’ve lost him again: “ _it’s okay to let go._ ”

You can’t keep him with you forever.

\---

It’s raining when you land; it’s your first indication that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Your second is every bloody train in New York deciding to break down _tonight_ , exactly when you need to get uptown. Your third is the way the silence echoes in the foyer when you unlock the door (she hadn’t changed the locks, _thank God_ ). All of this culminates in a very cold, very regretful feeling swarming in your stomach.

Your fourth is the face she gives you when she sees you.

Because you’re carrying a suitcase and you’re soaking wet and probably not looking your best and now you’re going to ruin Howard’s hardwoods, and Angie is looking at you as if you’ve sprouted an extra head in the time you’ve been away.

“English, are you insane?” Your heart warms when she calls you English, _there’s something left._

You want to say, _I know it’s been too long._ You want to say, _I know I should have called._ You want to say, _I’m sorry._

Instead, you say “Did you get new drapes?”

Angie narrows her eyebrows. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing, nothing at all, simply… well, they’re red and I happen to recall you saying you didn’t like red for drapes because-”

Angie cocks her head. “Did’ya need somethin’, Peggy?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and you want to say you but it might be too forward and perhaps she doesn’t think at all like you and _bloody hell_ if she doesn’t, you could go to jail and this was all just a _tremendously_ awful idea. “Actually, on second thought, no.”

You turn, and you start to walk away, because you are clearly not Peggy Carter, super spy extraordinaire, you are just an idiot schoolgirl who can’t face her feelings to save her life.

“Wait, English,” Angie calls, but you pretend you don’t hear. “Peggy!” Your key won’t fit in the lock; it’s really impeding on your dramatic escape attempt. “Margaret Elizabeth Carter, I have spent too many nights waiting up for you for you to disappear again!”

You stop. You pivot on a heel. “You waited up for me?”

Angie sighs, crosses her arms. “Yeah, for a couple weeks. I thought you mighta’ been undercover or in Russia or China or somethin’, whatever it is you spy types do. Thought you might-” Angie stops, swallows, “might be comin’ back.”

You deflate. “I’m not-”

“Don’t bother.” Angie rolls her eyes. “You can’t seriously think that the ‘telephone company’ excuse is gonna work anymore, can ya?”

“I’m sorry,” you start, because it’s a good a place as any to begin. “I would have been honest with you, but then-”

“But then you would have had to kill me?” Angie’s smiling, _she’s smiling, that’s good._

“No, but you might have died. I have a lot of enemies, Angie, very powerful enemies, and if they found out you were close to me… it wouldn’t have been pleasant. I wanted to keep you safe.”

Angie laughs mirthlessly. “Pegs, I could care less that you were lying to me. I mean, super spy, hello, I get it. I just…” she scuffs her feet on the floor. “You couldn’t'a said goodbye?”

You look to the ceiling. Steve’s face stares back at you. He winks. When you look at Angie, you see his eyes, his nose, his jaw.

“The truth is, Angie, I wasn’t sure how to.” You step forward, and she doesn’t step back. You take that as a good sign. “After everything, the war, Steve, you were one of the very few people I could count on to be a constant, and the only one I could count on to be a friend. At first, I was bloody terrified to get close to you, scared you might be hurt or even killed, but over time, you proved more than capable of handling yourself. Daniel still hasn’t stopped teasing Agent Thompson about his ‘Gam Gam.’”

Angie laughs a little, wipes at her eyes. You step even closer, until you’re right in front of her. “Angie, you have become the most important figure in my life. I don’t know what I would do without you, but when I left for Los Angeles… I was scared. The last person I got this attached to… it didn’t end well.”

“Steve,” Angie says in recognition.

“Yes.” You curse the way your voice cracks. “I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you the way I lost him, and, truthfully, there are far more painful ways to lose you than him.”

Angie frowns. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Pegs. I’m right here.”

“I know that. I- I knew that, I think, deep inside, but a part of me…” You look up, sigh. His face is not looking back at you. “A part of me wasn’t ready to move on without… without some type of permission.” Her face is contorted, and then it suddenly smoothes, _she understands._

“You need him to tell you to let go,” and it’s true, it’s so true. Angie steps forward, coming face to face with you. She’s close enough that you can see the flecks of mascara that have stuck to her cheeks during the long day. She reaches out, inches from touching you. “Peggy? I know I’m not him-”

You choke back a sob; _when did you start crying?_

“It’s okay to let go.”

Everything breaks, but it breaks into her arms, and the part of you that still existed on a worn photograph inside Captain Steve Rogers’ compass evaporates, and it’s only you and the girl you’ve come to love, molding together in the entryway, and you finally feel like you’re home.

Angie takes a deep breath. “So what are you saying, English? That you’re back?”

You chuckle; it’s watery. “Yes, I’m back. I was afraid, Angie. But I’m not afraid anymore.” You pause. “Or, at least, I’m doing a very good job of hiding it.”

Angie rolls her eyes. “Shut up, English. You talk too much.”

And then, suddenly, she’s kissing you, and it all makes sense.

Angie tastes like pie and Schnapps and new beginnings, and there’s something happening on your lips in the places where they meet hers, some sort of electrical response that send little lightning bolts to every nerve in your body. She’s pressing forward into you, so close that you have to wrap an arm around her to keep her steady. Angie grasps your face and barely lets you breathe and it hits you that this… this is how it’s supposed to be.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper again when you both pull away for air.

“What for?” Angie presses another kiss to your lips. “You’re here now.”

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me @amessofgaywords on twitter.


End file.
